


killswitch

by bonebo



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Drugging, i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-12
Updated: 2015-09-12
Packaged: 2018-04-20 08:52:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4781288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bonebo/pseuds/bonebo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rodimus is staring at him, looking terrified, and Drift is painfully confused until he starts to speak--because he can taste energon in his mouth, warm and fresh, and suddenly Rodimus's fear is dwarfed by his own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	killswitch

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wendigo-nasty](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=wendigo-nasty).



Drift rarely drinks.

Call it a fear of relapse or a spiritual rule--be like Rodimus, and call it being too uptight--but for all the nights he spends sitting at Swerve's, he hardly ever finds the burning taste of high-grade on his glossa. Even rarer is that he notices he's going without, until some bot questions why he isn't indulging and he simply explains he has no need. Between the stories of the crew that only get wilder as the night goes on and Rodimus's less-than-professional closeness, Drift is not lacking in entertainment; and honestly, why would he want to divert his attention away? So he sits with the others and sips his tonic and thinks nothing of the pleasant sweetness it leaves in his mouth, slightly cloying though it is.

He's halfway through the glass when he realizes something is different.

His head feels lighter, his limbs heavier, his internal systems warmer; he stares down into his glass and the noise of the crowd around him fades to a ringing buzz in his audials. He can't see anything different about his drink, no chunks of powder or streaks of color, but then whatever it is that he's ingested hits him again and the fuzziness washes over him in a wave, making every joint feel loose, every piece of plating tingle. He squirms in his chair uncomfortably.

Rodimus is the first to notice.

"Are you okay?" he asks, leaning closer and peering into his optics, a tipsy grin on his face; Drift stares back at him dumbly, resets his optics. He lifts a leaden hand to brush his fingers along Rodimus's cheek guard, noting the sharp contrast in their colors and finding himself awed by it.

Rodimus pauses, then cocks a brow, reaching up to grab his hand and give it a squeeze. "Drift," he says, and Drift drags his gaze back to Rodimus's mouth, watching him speak, "Listen to me. Are you okay?" 

Drift nods, feeling his lips split into a wide grin; he can feel the air of the bar on his teeth. "...yeah. 'm good, Roddy."

Rodimus looks at him a little longer, seemingly perplexed; Drift pulls his hand free and this time brushes it down Rodimus's nose, fumbles with one of his helm finials before putting together enough coordination to tweak it. Rodimus makes a noise Drift hasn't heard from him before, a sound caught somewhere between a squeal and a moan and, for whatever reason, Drift hears his engine rev.

"Let's go," he says suddenly, standing and swaying on his pedes. Rodimus again fixes him with that same confused look, but it's gone as soon as he gets up too, wrapping an arm around Drift's waist. They stumble from the bar together, laughing when their pedes tangle together in the hallway, and manage to make it to Rodimus's room without tripping too many times.

Rodimus falls onto the berth and Drift is right behind him--their armor smacks together as they collide and Drift doesn't care. He rolls onto his side and Rodimus follows, and the next thing Drift knows he's on his hands and knees, Rodimus laid out under him like a glinting gold masterpiece.

The kiss takes him by surprise.

It's all Rodimus, his hands gripping Drift's head as he smashes their lips together, messy and uncoordinated and hungry; Drift's stunned for a moment, lax against Rodimu's mouth, but then he tries to kiss back, his own hands seeking out plating too.

Both their fans are roaring when they break free, and Rodimus is panting against his mouth, needy little noises leaving him as his hand dives down to fumble between their bodies; there's the click of a panel and then Rodimus's hand is on Drift, rubbing between his legs, his mouth still making those desperate keening sounds.

"C'mon, Drift," he mumbles, pressing wet kisses along Drift's face; Drift bucks into his hand as golden fingers tap something sensitive, and he doesn't even remember giving the command for his panel to open before there's a hand around his spike.

He moans lowly, pressing into the touch, hearing Rodimus's happy little chuckle; Rodimus squirms a little, still gripping Drift's spike as he opens his legs a little more, and then Drift feels something warm pressing against the head of his spike insistently. He hesitates at first, his head spinning, overwhelmed by how fast everything seems to be going--but then Rodimus makes another one of his need-noises and he's gone, one hand on Rodimus's hip as he eases his spike inside.  
It's all at once too much and not enough. The snug heat gripping him is fantastic, the ripple of Rodimus's valve walls against his length, coaxing him in; Rodimus pants beneath him, fingers clutching at his shoulders, and when Rodimus rolls his hips Drift is helpless but to follow. They set a fumbling, slow pace like that, an easy slide, and Drift lets his head rest against Rodimus's neck and moans against his plating, all inhibition gone.

"Harder," Rodimus suddenly pants, squirming again; Drift frowns, peeved that Rodimus wants to ruin this perfection, but complies. He sets his hands on the berth and fucks into that willing valve harder, a feeling he can't describe starting to blossom in his center, coiling up tighter along with his pleasure.

The feeling flares when he grabs Rodimus's hip in one hand, squeezing tight; Rodimus moans and lays his head back, arching, and Drift finds his eyes drawn to the Autobrand on his chest. He lays one hand on it, then digs his claws into it lightly, watching Rodimus's face as he gasps and chokes out, "Yes...."

"You like that?" Drift hears himself saying, as he leans closer to kiss Rodimus again; his fangs graze Rodimus's lip and Rodimus's shudder is full-bodied, the moan he lets loose is wanting. He looks at Drift blearily, with his mouth slack, his optics glossy. His voice is strained as he pants, "Frag, yes, please...hurt me, Drift, c'mon...!"

"Hurt you?" Drift sits up, pauses, then lets his claws score down Rodimus's chest, watches him buck up and cry out--the noise is sharp and gives Drift a thrill, though he can't place why. He does it again, and again, watches red and yellow curls of paint peel up around his claws; Rodimus's shrieks of pleasure have faded to be background noise, and he finds very suddenly that he's focused on that red Autobrand, on the tiny scratches he's left upon it.

He wants to leave more.

He growls as he grabs Rodimus's hips, jerking him closer sharply, slamming their hips together--Rodimus bucks and so he slams one hand down on the Autobrand, digging his claws into it as he furiously pistons his hips, fucking into the valve below him punishingly. He ignores the cries of pained pleasure and instead focuses on his own, feeling the Autobot's hip dent in his grasp, feeling him arch up against the hand keeping him pinned down. He snarls his irritation as the Autobot keeps moving, and quickly pulls out, grabbing the 'bot and slamming him over onto his front. One hand goes to press the Autobot's head into the berth, while the other grabs a golden hip, keeping him still while he rams back inside.

"This is what you wanted, isn't it?" Deadlock growls, his voice low and grating, his lips split in a smirk; he listens to the Autobot wail and watches him writhe, and takes advantage of the new position to pound himself deeper into that hot valve. "You wanted me to hurt you." His hand leaves the dented hip to rake his claws down the Autobot's back, and the sight of energon bubbling to the surface of the bright plating only makes his arousal grow, makes him rut into the bot below him as hard as he can, chasing release. 

He's on the brink of finishing when the damned Autobot starts to squirm again, writhing and reaching back to blindly swat at him; his cries are shrill but they fall on deaf audials, result only in Deadlock using his hold on the Autobot's head to slam his face into the berth a few times.

"Shut up!" he snarls, ramming his hips faster, panting as he nears climax; the Autobot shifts weakly and he leans over him, biting into the 'bot's neck until he can taste energon. The taste and the sound of the Autobot screaming is enough to send him over the edge, his frame locking up as he spends himself inside the twitching valve, growling his release.

For a moment, he's lost to the sensation, blissfully oblivious as his frame sags in the afterglow. When he slowly starts to come back to himself he shifts position, pulling out and sitting back on the berth, feeling relaxed and buzzing with pleasure and much more clear-headed than he did before.

That's when he notices Rodimus. He still hasn't moved, and Drift frowns in concern as he reaches out, touches his side. "Rodimus...?"

Rodimus jerks away from him, a blur as he moves until he's pressed against the farthest corner of the room, optics wide and coolant dripping off his faceplates as he screams, "Don't _touch_ me! Get _out_!" He's shaking, Drift notes with alarm, shaking and leaking energon from a number of scratches, sporting a painful-looking wound to the side of his neck that bleeds thickly.

Rodimus is staring at him, looking terrified, and Drift is painfully confused until he starts to speak--because he can taste energon in his mouth, warm and fresh, and suddenly Rodimus's fear is dwarfed by his own.

He looks down at himself, a cold chill shooting through him; he's flecked with Rodimus's blood, sees it painting his claws and chest, feels it dripping from his chin. For a moment he's frozen, and then he's on his feet, running as fast as he can as far away as he can.

He makes it back to his room just in time to purge his tanks, collapse against the door, and scream.

___

Drift does not share Rodimus's berth for a long while.

The next time they lie beside one another, they are both completely sober--Drift tastes the tension in the air, feels the unspoken fear settle against his plating like a second coat of paint, and he knows that neither one of them will be able to sleep tonight.


End file.
